


I'd Like to Have Another Kiss

by Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo might have developed some strange urges of late, but she has no intention of letting those urges get her killed. Takes place post 2x14.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Like to Have Another Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn-masquerade.

Jo stays on at the Sandpiper for another week while the goose egg on her forehead slowly shrinks. She’d contemplated bangs for half a minute, before deciding they’d make her look like a muskrat with a comb-over. Anyway, if customers don’t like looking at the gift Sam Winchester left her, they can just go fuck themselves.

She leaves without putting in her notice, drifts south into Waterloo, where she’s heard rumblings that might mean a vengeful spirit. Finds work in a dive called Pete’s Tavern that sells two-buck Buds and hosts Friday night pool tourneys. 

She gets used to the crunch of peanut shells under her boots while she works, even starts to find the sound kind of satisfying.

The spirit turns out to be a nasty case of ghost possession, one of Gacy’s boys. She doesn't cry, but she has to swallow a hard lump in her throat while she burns the bones down to ash. 

She goes home with a customer one night, a rough-looking guy who works down at the cord factory. He’s tall and broad, has hands the size of her face, and something lights up inside her when she sees him look her over. 

At her urging, he ties her up with a length of clothesline he found out in the garage; hands behind her back, nestled in the curve of her spine, but it turns out he only _looks_ rough. He’s sweet and gentle with her, touching her breasts with reverence as he pushes into her, and he can’t tie a standard knot for shit. When he’s finished she smiles sweetly at him but leaves as soon as he’s asleep, frustrated. Starts packing up her things immediately and lights out for Missouri at dawn.

In Moberly, she finds work at The Limestone Lounge, scans the papers for something to hunt. The need keeps building in her, and the dreams don’t help none. Dreams where she’s bound, helpless, strong hands roaming her body and petting at her hair. She wakes most mornings with her fingers shoved between her legs, gasping and shaking as she comes, but the fire still burns.

She picks up another customer, this one sporting a gold band on his ring finger, and she sure as shit ain't taking him to her studio. They end up at a motel out on 63 grimy enough for the Winchesters to have stayed in a time or two.

This guy, Cody’s his name, he’s better at playing. Ties her up real good with some hemp rope he keeps in his truck, and that’s when she starts to get scared. He’s a little _too_ good with knots, and she’s pretty sure it’s not ’cause he spends his weekends sailing. He smacks her around a little and fucks her hard and fast, not caring a whit if she’s ready for him or not. She comes screaming anyway, her fingernails digging half moons into her palms. 

After he unties her, she breaks his nose with the right hook her daddy taught her, then goes home to pack up again. 

She cuts east this time, across Illinois and into Indiana, not stopping for more than a bite or a bathroom break until she’s past Terre Haute. She finds herself another bar, another room for let. She develops a taste for whiskey, which she thinks means she might yet become a proper hunter, and fuck those good ol’ boys who patted her ass and told her to run on home to Ellen. 

The whiskey burns her throat, but it does nothing to douse the fire that’s burning her up inside.

Finally, she digs out her phone and calls a number she’d planned on forgetting forever.

“Sam? It’s Jo. I need a favor.”

He comes, of course he comes, ditching Dean in Joliet by making up some excuse about a sick friend. Jo wasn’t aware that the Winchester boys had any friends aside from each other, but whatever. Not her problem.

He’s all doe eyes and apologies when he knocks on her door, even after she splashes him down with holy water, and she sighs, thinking he’s not gonna be able to give her what she needs either. But after Moberly she’d given herself a pretty stern talking to about the dangers involved in hunters asking strangers to tie them up. That Cody asshole could’ve been a vamp or a shifter; hell, even another serial-killing clown would be just as deadly. 

Jo might have developed some strange urges as of late, but she has no intention of letting those urges get her killed.

So she tells Sam what she needs and why she needs it, and he looks stunned and a little horrified. But when she eyes his crotch it seems like maybe part of him is on board with this at least.

“I really don’t, I mean…” he stammers.

“Shut up,” she says and throws him the coil of rope she’d picked up at a Jewel a hundred miles back where she’d stopped for granola bars and deodorant.

He’s all fumbling fingers and stuttering excuses, tells her he’s been having nightmares since he was possessed, but still he binds her wrists up nice and tight and then spins her around so her back’s against the wall, and when she looks into his eyes they’re dark and hungry.

“This is how you like it now, right Sam?” And a shadow crosses over his face, and she knows she’s telling the truth, wonders what he’s been getting up to since they left Duluth.

He tears open her shirt, and there’s three hours she can look forward to spending sewing buttons back on, but she doesn’t care, not now that she’s finally getting what she needs.

His huge palm cups her face and he gives her a bruising kiss, and she takes it, kisses back, then gets pissed again and bites his lip.

He pulls back, eyes narrow, looking just like he did when a demon was riding his skin, but she knows it’s Sam, knows he’s been infected like she has. He growls then, shoves a hand down the front of her jeans, and she arches back, lifting her hips so his fingers grace her clit.

He yanks her jeans off, tosses them aside, fumbling the condom on his hard dick and then hoisting her up. Strong arms brace her thighs, holding her open, and she wraps her legs around his slim waist, ankles crossed and pussy dripping.

They stay like that for a few seconds, poised on the precipice of some dark truth. He looks her in the eye and she nods, brusque, and then he’s fucking her, fast, deep, her body slamming against the wood paneling with the force of his thrusts.

He sucks on her earlobe, bites at her throat, and her fingers twine helplessly behind her back as his cock drills into her. He buries his face in her breasts then, teeth worrying her sensitive nipples. She shifts her thighs, trying to find the right position, until the head of his cock’s brushing her g-spot while she rides him, and she’s rubbing her clit against the soft skin of his abdomen.

She hates herself when she comes, and she hates him when he follows. 

He lets her down then, unties her. She showers while he cracks a beer, he showers while she grills up cheese sandwiches and pours three fingers of whiskey each for them. She’d been planning to kick him out as soon as she came down from her orgasm but she doesn’t, and they end up sleeping curled around each other on her sofa bed. In the morning he ties her face down to the bed and works open her virgin ass with his tongue and fingers and cock. 

And it burns a little, but it also heals something broken in her. Maybe in him too. They climax together, both finding something they’d thought they lost.

After that, he stops looking at her like the last meal of a dying man and starts talking to her again, hunter to hunter.

Dean’s after something strange in Illinois that they can’t figure out, and Sam’s worried. She tells him about the victim’s ghost she had to put down in Iowa, and he tells her about a spirit that didn’t know she was dead out in Nevada, and they’re both silent for awhile, thoughtful. 

Finally, it’s time for him to get going. She tells him she doesn’t want to see him again, and he says he understands. But he must have picked up something about her state of mind, because he asks her to call him if she means to do something stupid.

And she almost does, when a trucker in Knoxville looks at her and licks his lips and she knows she should be revolted but she’s not.

She doesn’t follow him into his cab though, doesn’t call Sam either. Instead, she goes home to her tacky motel room and calls her mom. 

And when she finally breaks down and talks about the demon she thought was going to rape her, Ellen assures her that it’s all right to cry.


End file.
